


SubObi Week - Winter 2021

by glimmerglanger



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: ABO mentions, Armor Kink, Blow Jobs, Bondage, But also, Dom/sub Undertones, Dubious Consent, Gags, Group Sex, M/M, Marking, Mer sex, Mpreg, Multi, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Pregnancy Kink, Sex Worker AU, Sub Drop, SubObi Week, Xeno, awkward discussions about sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 01:15:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28502064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glimmerglanger/pseuds/glimmerglanger
Summary: This is a collection of my fills for SubObi Week. Different warnings apply for each fill. I'll include them on the individual chapters. Different pairings, as well.Day Two - Codywan (Missing scene from the slo!au)Day Three - Obikin (Continuation of the Reverse AU)Day Four - Obi-Wan/TroopersDay Five - Obi-Wan/QuinlanDay Six - Obi-Wan/Jango (technically not for a prompt but it needs to go somewhere, so)Day Seven - Codywan (Flotsam and Jetsam missing scene)
Relationships: CC-2224 | Cody/Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jango Fett/Obi-Wan Kenobi, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Clone Trooper Character(s), Obi-Wan Kenobi/Quinlan Vos
Comments: 45
Kudos: 416
Collections: SubObi Weeks





	1. Codywan (Pregnancy Kink, slo!au)

**Author's Note:**

> Alright! These are my fills for SubObi week this winter! This first one is a missing scene from the slo!au, from Cody's POV. Just some thoughts about Obi-Wan being pregnant, really.

Cody had given no thought at all to pregnancy, during his training on Kamino. He was vaguely aware that nat-borns weren’t grown in tubes, that you couldn’t walk down a hall on most planets and find row after row after row of fetuses in different stages of development. But that had been as far as his consideration about the subject had gone.

And then he’d ended up assigned to a nat-born who was  _ already  _ pregnant. Obi-Wan Kenobi delivered the information as though it were barely a concern, and so Cody treated it that way, taking his cues in the unexpected situation from the person who seemed to know what they were doing.

He’d spent every free hour he could over the following days learning everything about the process. It only made sense. Most of the reading was dry and medical; he prefered that, in general. He’d not yet had time to branch out into different forms of writing.

It didn’t take him long to understand the condition, to develop an idea of what might be expected as it….progressed.

Everything had seemed simple enough.

Things rapidly became less simple.

He was used to the idea of children being lifted from jars when they were grown enough. It had been a cool and impersonal process. There was something innately  _ personal  _ about watching a child grow inside his General.

Cody caught glimpses, sometimes, of his body as it changed, the swell of his stomach, skin tight and firm. He found himself wondering, sometimes, tucked into a bunk at night, what it would feel like to touch Obi-Wan, to curve a hand around his stomach, fingers spread, to feel skin under his palm.

He thought, perhaps, more than he should about his General in his bunk at night, about sliding close to him, about being so careful of the stretch of his stomach, about sliding a hand further down and--

Cody  _ knew  _ the child Obi-Wan carried belonged to someone else, some other alpha, back on Coruscant. And he had no desire to - to interfere. But that didn’t do anything to change the urge down his spine, to reach out, to pull Obi-Wan closer, to  _ hold _ .

He didn’t, of course. But he  _ was  _ the first person to hold the child, when she was born, screaming and lovely. 

It shifted something in his chest, changed the shape of him on the inside. He felt rearranged all over again when he found out that the other alpha - another General, another Jedi - had no intention of continuing any kind of relationship with Obi-Wan.

Cody thought about the swell of Obi-Wan’s stomach, the first time he offered to help with his General’s heats. He thought about a child -  _ his  _ child - and he’d never even  _ wanted  _ a child before, but, oh--

He fucked Obi-Wan, over and over, and slid a hand over his flat stomach and  _ wanted _ .

He knew, perfectly well, that the timing was all wrong. Watching Obi-Wan fight a war while heavily pregnant had left him with nightmares that still dug away at him. He  _ wanted  _ to fuck Obi-Wan full, wanted to see a child grow inside him, again, but he’d not risk such a thing.

He could wait. The war would end, eventually.

Until then, he made sure he always had a contraceptive shot before one of Obi-Wan’s heats, even if he imagined a child, each time, sunk deep into Obi-Wan’s body, listening to Obi-Wan groan and pant and stutter out his name, holding on.

He saw Obi-Wan smile, sometimes, looking fond and amused, when Cody flattened a hand on his stomach as they lay together. There were little lines, around the edges of his stomach, paler than the rest of his skin, and Cody liked to trace them, too, liked to imagine more of them,  _ wanted _ \--

He’d wanted for so long and so thoroughly, by the time the war actually ended, that he could only agree helplessly when Obi-Wan offered the chance to try for a child. He tried to speak into being how much he  _ wanted  _ a child, wanted it to take, wanted--

But his words failed him as they clung together, as Obi-Wan kissed him, so sweetly. And, in the end, they were not necessary.


	2. Obikin (Reverse AU, dubcon, orgasm denial/control)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dubcon in this chapter, though, really, only if you've read the other parts of the reverse/age-swap AU. Anakin thinks this is all above board! Beyond the dubcon, there is: orgasm denial, bondage, gagging, and begging.
> 
> Set after Obi-Wan is Knighted. However, they were in a relationship BEFORE he got Knighted.

Obi-Wan always looked beautiful.

But he was at his most stunning when stretched so full, with Anakin buried in him as deep as it was possible to get.

Anakin considered it, taking his time, moving with slow, languid strokes. He’d burnt out the need to fuck Obi-Wan hard and fast earlier - the first two times they’d tangled together - and no longer felt the overwhelming fire up his spine.

He stroked his hands over Obi-Wan’s hips - there were marks there, already, from his hands, darker on the right, where his mechanical fingers had pressed in - and he ran feathler light touches over them, watching Obi-Wan shiver at the sensation, hearing him make a ragged sound.

The noise brought a little smile to Anakin’s mouth. He’d been so frustrated earlier, so uneasy in his skin, but that had fallen further and further away through the day. He’d been proud, of course, when Obi-Wan was Knighted, and at so young an age. Force knew that Obi-Wan deserved it, he was the best Padawan anyone could have asked for, and an amazing Jedi, certainly better than anyone else in the Order, but--

But his Knighting meant that they no longer worked together nearly so much. Obi-Wan had been gone four weeks. Away from him for nearly a Galactic standard _month_. It was the longest they’d been apart since the Council gave him Obi-Wan and--

Force, but he’d barely been able to stand the separation. He’d wanted to sweep Obi-Wan away, as soon as he was back on Coruscant, wanted to hide him away in their old quarters, touch him, kiss him, _fuck_ him.

Anakin had felt the shadows creeping in while Obi-Wan was away, the way they always did. Obi-Wan brought the light with him, and four weeks in the dark had been too long, had left Anakin aching with _need_ , already close to the edge.

Watching Obi-Wan smile across at his Commander, watching the man _touch Obi-Wan’s arm_ had pushed him over it, shifted the slant of his plans. Anakin had still brought Obi-Wan back to their quarters. But he’d felt...sharp edged, angry about the way the clone had looked at Obi-Wan, angry about their four week separation, just-- Angry.

Obi-Wan had understood. He always understood. 

He’d said, “Yes, Master,” when Anakin told him to get in the fresher, shivering as Anakin assessed the new injuries he’d brought back - mostly healed - and as Anakin cleaned him, quick and effectively. 

He’d said, “Yes, Master,” when Anakin told him to go to their rooms, to crawl onto the bed, and, Force, but Anakin had _missed_ him, needed him to understand, needed to make clear what Obi-Wan meant to him--

Obi-Wan had made a soft sound, when Anakin kissed him, pinning him to the mattress, touching his soft, lovely skin. But Obi-Wan had only been half-hard by the time Anakin slid a hand down his stomach, and it had twisted something, in Anakin’s head. He’d asked, “Did you even miss me, then? Did you _wait_ for me?”

And he’d wondered, the thought all sharp edges, about the way Obi-Wan had bumped shoulders with his Commander, when Obi-Wan panted, “Yes. I--so much.”

“Mm,” Anakin had said, stroking him to hardness, looking at him sprawled across their bed, all flushed and beautiful and the creeping darkness had moved through him. “Well,” he’d said, taking his hand away, stretching it out, reaching out with the Force, “you can wait a little longer, I think.”

Obi-Wan had tensed when Anakin fitted the ring around his cock and left it there, keeping Obi-Wan’s cock hard and reddened even as Anakin fucked him. That had been ever so long ago. Anakin hadn’t touched the ring, not while fucking him the first time, nor the second.

They were on to the third. He smiled, rolling his hips easily, and slid a hand up Obi-Wan’s back. His arms were pinned together, the leather around them keeping his shoulders drawn back. Anakin ran a touch over Obi-Wan’s fingers, splayed and trembling, just a little, each time Anakin fucked into him.

Obi-Wan had his face turned to the side, pressed to the blanket Anakin had spread across the floor, his eyes heavy-lidded and wet, his mouth open as he made stuttering, punched out noises. Yes, Anakin decided, trailing a touch over his side, he’d never seen Obi-Wan quite so beautiful, with his hair growing out, sticking to his cheeks, his muscles all trembling, his cock still so hard, curving up towards his stomach.

Obi-Wan cried out, expression twisting, with Anakin dragged a touch over his cock, stroking him in time with Anakin’s easy thrusts. “Mm, a little dry,” Anakin mused, the skin so hot under his fingers. He moved his hand back, dragging his fingers over the skin of Obi-Wan’s inner thighs, wet and messy with Anakin’s come. He coated his fingers and reached forward again, Obi-Wan whining out, “ _Ah, Master!_ ”

“Like that?” Anakin asked, and, oh, he could feel himself getting close again, each ragged sound Obi-Wan made dragging him closer and closer, the midday Coruscanti sun coming down over Obi-Wan’s hair and skin, and--

“ _Please_ ,” Obi-Wan gasped, squirming, and the plea brought Anakin over the edge all at once. He swore, fucking into Obi-Wan hard a handful of times, shoving in deep as he spilt, remembering, distantly, to keep moving his hand, listening to Obi-Wan take hitching, short breaths, like he couldn’t fill the bottom of his lungs.

Anakin exhaled, feeling better, and dragged his fingers down, playing with the ring around Obi-Wan’s cock and smiling. 

“What did you say?” he asked, teasing his touch across the little toy that held ever so much power.

Obi-Wan’s mouth was bitten red. He panted, wetting his bottom lip, and gasped out, “Please. Please, I--”

“Want to come?” Anakin asked, sliding his fingers towards the release, feeling Obi-Wan go still with anticipation.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan managed to gasp out, nodding against the blanket, his fingers opening and closing, caught at the small of his back.

“Mm,” Anakin said, brushing a touch over the release and then away, his cock - so recently spent - giving a twitch where he was still buried inside Obi-Wan. His frustration and anger were gone. But he….had missed Obi-Wan so much. He didn’t want, quite, for their reunion to be ended. “Not yet,” he decided, and listened to Obi-Wan stifle a sound that was almost a sob as he took his touch away.

“After all,” he continued, pulling out of Obi-Wan’s tight heat and reaching for the plug he’d used after each of the first two times. “I don’t have the time to properly take care of you, just yet. You’ll have to wait. Don’t worry,” he said, hearing his voice get thicker as he looked at Obi-Wan, kneeling, ass in the air, rim so reddened and slick, so _full_. “It won’t be four weeks.”

Obi-Wan keened when Anakin slid the plug into him, tugging it against the edge of him a few times, enjoying the contrast of dark and red, red skin. 

“Sh, now,” Anakin said, reaching for Obi-Wan’s shoulders and gently easing him up, so he could sit on his heels, swaying a bit. His eyes were unfocused, his mouth open and wet, his cock so hard, curving up to his stomach. 

Anakin couldn’t help but sliding a hand down, dragging a teasing touch over him, Obi-Wan making a thick, ragged sound, begging, “Please, I--”

“I said ‘sh,’” Anakin reminded him, shaking his head. “As much as I enjoy the sounds you make,” and he _did_ , Force, he _loved_ listening to Obi-Wan, it was one of the purest pleasures in the entirety of the kriffing galaxy, “I can’t have you being noisy right now, don’t you remember?”

Obi-Wan shivered all over, visibly, as Anakin reached for the other….tool he’d made use of so far during their reunion. He didn’t often gag Obi-Wan. He liked the way Obi-Wan groaned and gasped and cried, sometimes, too much.

But there was an appeal to sliding the wide ball into Obi-Wan’s mouth, behind his teeth, to stretching the straps back over his cheeks and securing them in the growing tangle of Obi-Wan’s hair.

“There,” Anakin said, bending and pressing a kiss to his forehead. “You just stay there and wait for me. Practice your meditation.”

He looked back, in the doorway to the fresher, and Obi-Wan was the loveliest picture he’d ever seen, kneeling on the floor, back straight, trying to breathe steadily through his nose, the light coming in all around him.

Anakin smiled, stepping into the fresher. He washed off, quickly. Three rounds had made him filthy. He dressed quickly and finished in time to take his arranged comm with the Chancellor. He hadn’t _planned_ to still be so involved with Obi-Wan, by the time of the meeting. But he found he quite liked how things had turned out, even if it meant he barely paid attention to the conversation.

He wouldn’t have been able to recount anything they said to one another, by the time the comm disconnected.

His thoughts were occupied elsewhere, after all. His cock was hard, again, just from thinking about Obi-Wan waiting for him. He exhaled and made his way back to their quarters, opening the door to find Obi-Wan exactly as he’d been left, but with his eyes closed and his chin dipped towards his chest.

He could almost have believed Obi-Wan had fallen asleep, if not for the rapid rise and fall of his chest, the sweat gleaming across his skin, and the hard line of his cock. 

“Look at you,” he murmured, and Obi-Wan lifted his head, slowly, blinking over at him with eyes that weren’t quite focused. His eyelashes were clumped together. There were drying lines of salt on his cheeks, marks from Anakin’s mouth on his throat and shoulders, from Anakin’s hands on his hips.

“Fuck,” Anakin rasped, crossing the room quickly, kneeling beside him and reaching for the clasp of the gag, removing it as carefully as he could manage and setting it aside before sliding both hands into Obi-Wan’s hair, holding him just so and kissing his wet, giving mouth. “You’re so kriffing perfect, you know that?”

Obi-Wan twitched a nod against his hands, panting against Anakin’s mouth.

He looked deliciously wanton, when Anakin pulled back, breathing hard, his mouth red in the corners, his lips all slick. Anakin ran a gloved finger over his bottom lip and then, with a bitten off groan, slid two fingers into Obi-Wan’s mouth, swearing when he sucked.

A little trail of saliva stretched from Obi-Wan’s mouth to his glove when he dragged his fingers out, taking one more kiss before pushing Obi-Wan forward again. Obi-Wan made a ragged little sound as Anakin settled him on the blanket, guiding his hips up, and, oh, he was so lovely, already spread, bruises on his hips, little lines of come dried on his thighs.

“You’ve been so good for me,” Anakin told him, ragged, pulling his outer tunic off and throwing it aside, reaching for his belt. “Just what I needed, Obi-Wan, _everything_ I needed.” 

He had such a difficult time _saying_ things, so much of the time. But like this, when it was just the two of them, when the dark was pushed back, he could always find the words, always tell Obi-Wan how important he was.

Anakin didn’t _know_ what he would be, what he would have become, without Obi-Wan there with him, a beacon of light, always steadying him. He’d never have to find out, and that was enough. The Council, it seemed, did some things right, anyway. They’d given him the dearest gift he could imagine, when they’d given him Obi-Wan.

“Force,” he gritted out, running hands over skin, too needy, all at once, to even bother teasing Obi-Wan with the plug. He gripped it and drew it out, Obi-Wan so red and open and ready for him, as Anakin dragged open his slacks. “I love you, you know that?”

Obi-Wan groaned, the sound cracked and breaking in his throat as Anakin slid into him; he was so hot, so wet, full already with Anakin’s spend. 

Anakin bottomed out in one stroke. Obi-Wan was already so stretched, so ready for him, cries falling from his mouth, one after another as Anakin joined them together. Anakin gripped his hips, thumbs stroking across sweat-slick skin, changing his angle to ensure he drove his cock across Obi-Wan’s prostate, at least every other stroke, hearing Obi-Wan’s cries get more and more ragged.

“I know you want to come,” he said, setting a deep, steady pace. “Don’t you?”

Obi-Wan’s mouth worked for a moment, soundlessly, before he managed to gasp out, “Yes, I-- _Master_!”

The last was a sharp cry, as Anakin shifted his angle, just a little, getting deeper. “Soon,” he promised, and leaned forward, Obi-Wan’s bound arms caught between them. He looked to the side, at the mirror along the far wall, and swore at the sight, at Obi-Wan all spread out for him, trembling and gasping and--

Anakin had to loop an arm around Obi-Wan’s waist, holding him up, as Obi-Wan’s legs tried to give completely. He braced his other hand on the floor, taking both of their weight, driving shattered little noises from Obi-Wan’s throat, pleas caught between some of the sounds, until he could not hold back the pull of his release any longer.

Anakin slumped, just a little, breathing hard and ragged. Below him, Obi-Wan trembled, rubbing his cheek against the blanket, eyes open and sightless. “Sh, sh,” Anakin crooned to him, after a moment, and shifted.

It was easy enough to rock back, pulling Obi-Wan along, Obi-Wan crying out as it adjusted the set of Anakin’s cock inside of him. It was easy to lean back against the bed, stretching his legs out and keeping Obi-Wan settled across his thighs, Obi-Wan’s arms pressed against his chest.

“There you go,” Anakin murmured, nuzzling at the back of Obi-Wan’s neck. Four times seemed very satisfactory to him. Once for every week they’d been apart. He slid a hand over Obi-Wan’s chest, pinching one of his nipples - already reddened and sore from the attention Anakin had paid them between their first and second bouts - and then further down his stomach, listening to Obi-Wan gasp for breath, whining.

“Oh,” Obi-Wan gasped out, when Anakin brushed his cock, again. He squirmed, but weakly, and couldn’t manage to get anywhere with Anakin’s mechanical arm curled tight around his waist, anyway. 

“Should I let you come?” Anakin asked, nipping at his throat, stroking his cock, so hard and hot and _oh_ , he’d been waiting so long.

“Please,” Obi-Wan begged, head twisting back and forth on Anakin’s shoulder, fitful. “Please, _please,_ Master--”

And Anakin had always been weak-willed when it came to Obi-Wan begging. He hummed, sliding his hand to the closure once more, running a finger back and forth over it, hesitating. He considered, for a long, delicious moment, keeping Obi-Wan like this for perhaps the rest of the day, seeing how _prettily_ he might beg--

Obi-Wan made a ragged, broken sound, noises that might have been pleas falling out of his mouth, and Anakin decided he’d earned a little mercy. He triggered the release and said, “There you go, darling. Let it go.” He ran his fingertips up the underside of Obi-Wan’s cock and that was, really, all it took.

Obi-Wan wailed out a sound, tensing in a beautiful arc, body spasming around Anakin’s softening cock as he finally found his release, coming all over his own chest and stomach. He sank down, limp, as his orgasm faded, breathing shaky and uneven as Anakin pressed another kiss to the side of his neck and murmured, “I love you, so much.”


	3. Obi-Wan/Troopers (Armor Kink, Sentinel AU)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the "armor kink" prompt. Also part of a random Sentinel AU that I've been working on, so. Quite possibly it doesn't make a lot of sense, yet! Come marking and group sex.

Obi-Wan hadn’t - really - expected that the armor would still fit him. It had been nearly two decades since he had any reason to wear it. It was definitely tighter - particularly around his shoulders, but also at his hips and waist, he wasn’t eighteen anymore - but it seemed he hadn’t gotten much taller since his sojourn on Mandalore, at least.

He buckled the last of the armor - the vambraces - into place and gave himself a once over in the mirror in the room. It was, jarringly, like being through into the past. Perhaps he shouldn’t have kept it for so long, but…

Well. It was good that he had. He wasn’t going to the Mandalore on behalf of the Jedi Council or the Republic, after all. 

He knew the value of presenting yourself properly for the occasion. He looked over the red and black armor, flexed his fingers in and out, and drew a breath. It wasn’t perfect, but…

He supposed he could use a second opinion. Fortunately, he thought, mouth quirking in the corners, he could get at least a dozen of them easily enough. He could feel the curiosity radiating from all the sentinels currently in his quarters, tinged with a sort of anticipation and the low-grade worry they tended to put off if he wasn’t in their sightline.

That was, he knew, a problem. But they’d all awoken during combat. So many of them had been thrown directly into a feral state, smelling his blood, feeling  _ his  _ hurt. There was little he could do about the psychological imprints that had left behind. His sentinels - especially those who had found him on Geonosis - were always going to be over-protective.

He shook aside the thought, tucked the helmet under his arm, and waved the door to his room open, stepping out.

He was met with a dozen curious, evaluating looks, all at once. 

“Well?” Obi-Wan asked, gesturing out to the side with one hand and raising an eyebrow. “How does it look? It needs to be repainted, obviously.” He wasn’t sure  _ red  _ sent the message he wanted to deliver to Mandalore on a first impression, even if it weren’t battered to hell and back. “But, does it--”

Obi-Wan trailed off, getting his answer through their feelings before even Cody carefully put down the book he’d been looking through, stood up, and said, “You look  _ very nice _ .”

They were broadcasting, loudly, exactly how nice they thought he looked. He blinked, startled a bit by the intensity of the want and appreciation suddenly curling up through his shielding, surrounding him. He supposed, as Mav and Crys - the two closest of his sentinels - reached out to touch him, sliding fingers over armor, that it made sense.

They were all so used to seeing people in armor, to wearing it themselves. They didn’t have to wear it all the time, anymore, he’d made sure of that, but many defaulted to it, anyway. It was what they’d always worn. It felt….comfortable to them. Natural as his Jedi robes felt to him.

The armor felt far more restrictive, tighter even than it should have been against his skin. “Nice?” he asked, bemused, watching them drift forward, movements coordinated even in this situation, even without speaking to one another.

But then, he’d noticed that they  _ needed  _ to speak to one another less and less. Their joint connection - anchored in his presence in the Force - was starting to work in some….unexpected ways. 

That consideration was pushed to one side as Mav circled behind him and said, “Kriffing amazing is more accurate.” 

A flash of appreciative agreement radiated off of the others, enough to have his gut tighten, to make his breath hitch, just so. He managed to rasp, “Oh?” before Cody was there, hand cupping his jaw, leaning in to kiss him, hard and without preamble; they’d all learned so quickly what they  _ liked _ .

Most of them weren’t wearing all of their armor. Some weren’t wearing any at all. It hadn’t been  _ that  _ long since they woke up, all tangled together. Obi-Wan ached, still, from being pulled closer with the last dregs of sleep falling away from his mind, pulled over Crys’s hips and fucked in front of their couch, and--

Someone slid a hand over his codpiece, just pressure, no warmth translating through the armor, and he found he was hard, anyway. 

“Where’d it come from, anyway?” Longshot asked, nuzzling against his hair, curious and so full of want and--

Obi-Wan tilted his fact to the side, gasping at a nip against his neck. “It was a gift,” he murmured, the touches to his throat and another kiss feeling...over-sensitized, the only pieces of his skin exposed. “From someone I knew a long time ago.”

There was a beat of hesitation, a strange shift of emotion in the Force, one it took him a second to pinpoint. He was not sure, really, that he’d ever felt  _ jealousy  _ from them before. They had no  _ reason  _ to be jealous, he was-- “This is someone else’s armor?” Cody asked, frowning a little.

“Well,” Obi-Wan said, shivering as the jealousy settled into something else, something hungrier. “It’s mine now.”

“Another sentinel’s,” Hardcase said, something rough in his voice, and Obi-Wan supposed that was true, though Satine had never awoken. They could have been a match, but--

Behind him, Mav made a non-committal sound, and Obi-Wan opened his mouth to ask, exactly, what the problem was, only to have fingers tangle in his hair, tugging him around, into another kiss. He groaned into it, and managed, after a moment, to pant out, “We can take it off if it bothers you.”

“Later,” Mav said, though Obi-Wan wasn’t sure what they were finding so intriguing about barely being able to touch him. There was also the fact that the armor  _ was  _ a bit too tight. And getting tighter, restrictive to the point of discomfort, as his cock hardened, caught against the plate of his codpiece.

Kisses and the edge of teeth along his neck distracted him, a thick, sweet kiss derailed his thoughts, he groaned, and curled an arm around Cody’s shoulders, leaning back against Mav’s chest, rocking his hips up into the denied pressure of a hand against his codpiece and--

He wasn’t sure how long they spent kissing him, taking turns, before the fingers clenched in his hair tugged, just a little, downward. He read their intentions more through the Force than anything else, and groaned, not even thinking before he dipped to his knees.

The armor - at least - offered some protection and padding under his knees as he knelt. That would, he thought, be valuable. He had the feeling, shivering down his back, that they intended him to be there for a while. 

“Fuck,” someone panted, further back, as Mav anchored a hand in Obi-Wan’s hair and tilted his head back, just so, holding it steady. Obi-Wan ran his tongue across his bottom lip - already slick - and reached up, unsurprised when his hands were grabbed, gripped hard.

“You said it needs repainted, anyway?” Cody asked, his voice all thick as he stepped closer, hand moving over his cock, and Obi-Wan couldn’t really nod, not with Mav’s fingers so tight in his hair.

“Yes,” he panted out, instead, and groaned when Cody swore, brushed the tip of his cock against Obi-Wan’s mouth in a single tease before sliding inside. He couldn’t move, not without tearing free of Mav’s grip, and he saw no reason to do that, no reason to do anything but focus on his breathing, on sucking, on relaxing his throat as Cody fucked further in, all of them radiating hunger and lust and--

And Obi-Wan was impossibly hard, trapped in the armor, wishing  _ someone  _ would take it off of him, but--

Someone swore above him and there was a sudden splatter of hot wet against his cheek. He blinked, not sure when he’d closed his eyes, aching and throbbing with want, and Mav snapped out, “ _ No _ , on the  _ armor _ ,” and Obi-Wan heard the sound that strangled in his throat, thick and desperate and enough, apparently, to drag Cody’s orgasm from him.

He prepared to swallow, crying out a little when Cody pulled out of his mouth. He did not expect for Cody to shift back, just a little, spilling all down the front of Obi-Wan’s old armor, with a satisfied noise. He felt pleasure - sharp and pure - radiating all around him, Cody wiping at the mess on Obi-Wan’s cheek even as Longshot shifted forward and--

Obi-Wan was vaguely aware of Cody wiping his fingers off across Obi-Wan’s chestplate, and he shivered, though he was overheating, caught in his armor, caught between their bodies, drowning beautifully in their touches. 

He was desperately aching by the time they finished to their satisfaction, leaving him  _ covered  _ with - with come, his armor filthy with it, Mav’s fingers still anchored in his hair as Obi-Wan panted out, “Please, could you--”

“We’ve got you,” Longshot told him, gently, dropping a kiss to his mouth while someone  _ finally  _ reached down to remove his codpiece, tossing it to the side. Hands tugged at his blacks - he’d taken some of theirs, they must have noticed - and fingers closed around his aching cock, and he cried out both at the relief of no longer being trapped and the pleasure of the touch and--

And he sagged, when they drew an orgasm from him, Mav relaxing his grip immediately, cradling the back of his head, not a single hair pulled from his scalp. A kiss was pressed to his jaw, and then another, nuzzling touches, soothing and sweet and so full of care that he ached with it, inside his chest.

“Well,” he rasped, pressing into the touches, “you’ve all certainly made a mess.”

“Don’t worry,” Mav murmured, sinking down behind him, the only one of them still hard and untouched, tugging Obi-Wan’s blacks further down in the back, “we’ll clean it all up.”


	4. Obi-Wan/Quinlan - Sub Drop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the "sub drop" prompt. They're both older Padawans in this fic and it's an established relationship. They've been trying out some new things and end up making a few mistakes.

Quinlan left Obi-Wan’s quarters with a spring in his step and a warm feeling in the pit of his stomach, one he planned to cherish for the rest of the day, at the very least. They never had much time to themselves - not between one mission and the other, or whatever training their Masters managed to cook up - and they’d barely seen each other in months.

It had felt….very nice to get reacquainted. They hadn’t, really, had much time. He’d had to leave almost immediately after, running out the door to make sure he didn’t miss the morning meal, leaving Obi-Wan still looking groggy and dazed; always a good look on him, in all honesty.

Quinlan grinned, to no one, and tugged his robes closer to order as he hurried off. He was, technically, late for breakfast. 

His memories kept circling around to the early hours of the morning as he ate and prepared himself for an instruction session with Master Ti. He tried to clear his thoughts - he didn’t particularly  _ want  _ Master Ti catching the images in his head, sense memories of the warmth of Obi-Wan’s skin, the noises he made, the taste of his skin - and managed not to embarrass himself or anyone else in the meditation instruction.

But it felt like trying to dam up a river. The memories were all there, waiting, when he finished. It was just that Obi-Wan had felt so good, amazing, really, and--

Quinlan reached out to nudge him through the Force, without really thinking about it, driven by memory. He stopped short in the middle of the hall when he got nothing back. There was just...blankness, from Obi-Wan.

Shielding.

Which was...unusual. Obi-Wan’s mind was far from an open-book; he had better shielding than most, in Quinlan’s experience. But he didn’t shut himself all off. Not usually. Quinlan had only known him to do it when there was something wrong. 

When he was feeling things he thought he ought not burden anyone else with.

Images of Obi-Wan’s blue eyes, looking up at him as Obi-Wan slid his mouth a little further down Quinlan’s cock, fled his mind. He turned on his heel, frowning as he made his way back through the Temple. Master Jinn was still, as far as he knew, in the infirmary, recovering.

Perhaps that explained why no one came to open the door to Obi-Wan’s rooms, when Quinlan arrived. He could tell, at least, that Obi-Wan was inside, even if he was still holding all his thoughts and feelings tightly, every touch from Quinlan’s mind sliding off to the side.

And Quinlan knew that, technically, he ought not to use his abilities to snag a memory from the keypad before the door - Master Jinn’s fingers, keying in a code, dozens or hundreds of times - but he did it, anyway.

He entered the code himself and stepped into the rooms, calling, “Obi-Wan?”

There was silence for a beat, and then Obi-Wan asked, his voice  _ strange _ , “Quin? What are you doing here?”

Quinlan followed his voice, back into his rooms, where he was… sitting beside the bed, dressed for the day, his hair still a little damp from the fresher, trying to shift into a meditation pose as Quinlan reached the doorway.

Quinlan blinked. Obi-Wan was closed off, still, nothing but empty serenity in the Force, but his eyes were reddened and his face was too pale. He looked so different from when Quinlan had left him, a few hours ago, when he’d been flushed all over and breathing heavily, still.

“What happened?” Quinlan asked, moving forward and crouching in front of him. “Obi-Wan, what’s wrong?” He wondered if there’d been bad news about Master Jinn. Or perhaps--

“Hm?” Obi-Wan said, blinking a few times, clearing his throat. There was tension all in his jaw, the press of his mouth together. “I thought I’d just meditate for a while, and--”

“Hey,” Quinlan interrupted; he’d known Obi-Wan for enough years to know when he was trying to….not so much lie as avoid answering a question. “Did you skip breakfast?” He knew Obi-Wan had to be hungry, he’d been  _ starving _ after they’d tangled together, making a mess of Obi-Wan’s bed and each other.

“I wasn’t very hungry,” Obi-Wan said, still looking off to the side. “I should make myself something now. I…” He made to stand, and Quinlan reached out to catch his arm, freezing when he felt a tremble in Obi-Wan’s skin.

“Obi-Wan?” he asked, because he was  _ used  _ to Obi-Wan trembling, in some situations. Obi-Wan had trembled, earlier, after Quinlan made him come a third time, when he’d been gasping and panting out nonsense sounds. “Stop, don’t--just, tell me what’s wrong.”

Obi-Wan did something with his shoulders, almost a shrug. “I’m...cold,” he said, which was at least  _ something _ . “It’s nothing, Quin, I just…” He did the little almost-shrug again. 

“If it’s nothing, why are you shielding so much?” Quinlan asked, reaching for the blankets on the bed - Obi-Wan had made it after he left, apparently. He pulled them down without thinking about it, wrapping them around Obi-Wan’s shoulders as he made faint protests. He also, Quinlan noticed, didn’t answer. “Obi-Wan?”

“I needed to,” Obi-Wan said, finally, which was not much of an answer. He was still shivering. Quinlan rubbed hands up and down his arms through the blanket. 

“You don’t,” Quinlan told him. “Come on, let them down, just a little.”

Obi-Wan tightened his jaw, blinking rapidly and paling further. He gave a single, sharp shake of his head and curved his shoulders in, 

The refusal stung, sudden and deep, tangling with the memories of Obi-Wan being so open, earlier, mind and thoughts all blazing hot, letting Quinlan meld with him on so many levels. He rocked back, hurt, and heard himself ask, “Don’t you trust me?”

_ That  _ snapped Obi-Wan’s gaze up to his, eyes blue and red rimmed and  _ kriff _ , had Obi-Wan been  _ crying _ ? Before Quinlan could process it, Obi-Wan cut his gaze to the side again and said, “Of course I do, Quin.”

There was something gutting about getting lied to, right to his face.

Quinlan blinked, wrestling with a sudden wash of hurt and - and anger, a bit, too. He was grateful, all at once, that he’d just come from meditation. It helped him pluck the emotions apart, at least enough to keep them from rising higher. He said, “I--what did I do, then, that you don’t?”

He felt  _ something  _ through Obi-Wan’s careful shielding, but there wasn’t enough there to get a read on it. Obi-Wan smoothed out his expression and said, “I do trust you.” He reached a hand from the blankets and, after a beat of hesitation, took Quinlan’s hand, threading their fingers together. He felt cold, unnaturally chilled.

Quinlan looked at their fingers, the way they folded together so naturally, and said, “Talk to me then. Let me see what’s wrong.”

He  _ felt  _ Obi-Wan hesitate. He braced for another refusal, for Obi-Wan to dig in and go on pretending he was fine. And then Obi-Wan took a little breath and it  _ hitched _ , wet, before he said, surprisingly even, “I don’t know what’s wrong.”

“That’s alright,” Quinlan told him, because at least it was progress in the right direction. “We’ll figure it out.” He hesitated and then added, “It would be easier if I could sense you, Obi. At  _ all _ .”

Obi-Wan grimaced. He said, still looking over towards the wall. “It’s not good.”

“I don’t mind,” Quinlan said, entertaining unpleasant memories about a time Obi-Wan had gotten hurt badly during a sparring session, about the way he’d just...put himself away, inside his own head, none of the pain spilling out even as the healers rushed around. “Come on. Let me in.”

Obi-Wan tightened his grip, as though he needed to hold onto something, and Quinlan sucked in a breath when his shields eased, just a little. And there was-- confusion, so much of it; Obi-Wan wasn’t exaggerating, he didn’t know what was wrong with him. But there was - not really pain, but a tangle of - of hurt and sadness and aching doubt and--

“Force,” Quinlan said, sorting out the feelings as best he could, trying to figure out what could have prompted them, memories dragged to the way they’d touched, to some of the sounds that had strangled in Obi-Wan’s throat when Quinlan had put a hand in the middle of his shoulders and worked him open, and-- “Did I hurt you? Earlier? Is that it?”

Obi-Wan shook his head, at once. He said, tense and controlled, still, “No. No, I mean--” His cheeks flushed, all at once, with blotchy red. “Not in a - a way I didn’t like.”

And Obi-Wan had never made any effort to hide the fact that he liked things a little rough. It had hardly been a surprise. They’d grown up beside each other. Finding out Obi-Wan liked to be shoved around and held tight and - and sometimes hurt, a little; sometimes a _lot_ , or at least it seemed so to Quinlan \- had felt almost obvious, when they’d started going to bed together.

Quinlan  _ had  _ spanked him, earlier, held him down and left him red and sore before they moved together, the last time. But it wasn’t the  _ first  _ time he’d done it, and at the time Obi-Wan’s emotions had all been pleasure and sweet relief.

Which didn’t, at all, explain what was going on with Obi-Wan at the moment. He didn’t feel pleasantly hazy - radiating enjoyment into the Force so thickly that Quinlan always felt it, that was sometimes sweet enough that he worried he’d come without ever having his own cock touched - at all. 

“Alright,” Quinlan finally managed to say. He had to trust that Obi-Wan was being honest about that, and, anyway, he’d definitely  _ felt  _ like he was enjoying it at the time. Obi-Wan had also, he noted, relaxed a little with the easing of his shields. Quinlan wrapped him a little more in the blankets and sank to sit beside him. It was a relief when Obi-Wan leaned into his side, a moment later. “So - so was there something else? Anything else?”

Obi-Wan sighed, shields tightening for just a moment, before easing again with what seemed to be conscious effort. He said, quietly, “I don’t know. I just.” He shrugged, head heavy against Quinlan’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. About when I don’t do things right.”

Quinlan blinked, wondering if they’d jumped conversational tracks without warning. Obi-Wan did that, sometimes, just expecting everyone else to keep up. He opened his mouth, and Obi-Wan continued, quiet, “When you said…” He stopped, cleared his throat. “I was thinking about it, after you left.”

Quinlan had no idea what he’d said that would cause such an effect. He said all kinds of things when they were together, and--

He froze, staring forward, a memory of skin on skin, of Obi-Wan spread beneath him, and he didn’t remember exactly what he’d said but-- “Obi-Wan,” he said, curling an arm around him, pulling him closer, “You do everything perfect when we’re together.”

Obi-Wan tensed. “You said I - I was too desperate,” he said, clipped. “Sl--easy. You said I needed--”

Quinlan felt his cheeks burning. “No,” he said, cutting Obi-Wan off, cursing himself for an idiot. He  _ knew _ plenty of other things about Obi-Wan. How he took things to heart, even stupid, ridiculous things. “I was just--kriff, Obi-Wan, I don’t know what to say, when we’re--when I spank you, I just--that’s how they talk in holos, I don’t--I  _ love  _ how eager you are. It’s amazing to me, how much you like it.”

Obi-Wan was quiet for a beat and then asked, “Really?”

“Really,” he confirmed, and thinned his own shields, trying to push across a shadow of how he felt, the way watching Obi-Wan fall apart got him hard and desperate. 

Obi-Wan sucked in a little breath. “You’re not disappointed?”

Quinlan bit his tongue and pressed a kiss to the side of Obi-Wan’s head. “No,” he said, and Obi-Wan curled a little closer to him, stretching an arm across his chest, shields easing a little more, still feeling so cold, so tangled up.

For a moment, neither of them said anything, and then Obi-Wan murmured, “We’re going to miss Master Yoda’s symposium.”

“There’ll be another,” Quinlan told him, and adjusted the blankets, thinking about getting them both some tea, in a few minutes, making Obi-Wan eat something, and then, maybe, if he could muster the courage for it, discussing the things they did in bed, a little bit further, making sure they were on the same page. Making sure they wouldn’t leave each other feeling this way, again, if possible. “Just relax, for a minute.”


	5. Jangobi (Sex Worker AU)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TECHNICALLY this is not for a subobi week prompt, but I wrote it in the middle and it IS sub!obi and so I'm posting it here, for ease of finding it in the future. 
> 
> Basically, an AU where Obi-Wan's life went worse and Jango's went a little bit better. Jango's around 29 and this is, most likely, leading to a full fic at some point.
> 
> Consent issues because Obi-Wan is doing this as a job, and doesn't have much choice. Blow jobs, banter, more feels than I expected.

Jango knew well enough he had no  _ reason  _ to go back to Trolk VI. As far as shitty planets on the Outer Rim went, it wasn’t particularly impressive. Most of the economy seemed generated by the fighting pits or the pleasure houses surrounding them.

Jango had little interest in  _ either  _ of those pursuits. 

Most of the time.

He’d visited pleasure houses before, though mostly because the places seemed to draw his bounties in the same way that a wailing, dying thing drew the attentions of a starving predator. He’d bagged more than one bounty while they were in the middle of….their business. 

His visit to a pleasure house on Trolk VI had not been such a success story. He’d ducked into the building in a rush to avoid the group that had  _ already  _ shot him twice - someday, he’d learn to stop walking into ambushes - and he’d barged into one of the rooms for the same reason.

His plan had been to hide somewhere, or go out the window again. But his pursuers had been close and there’d been someone on the bed already, stirring around in a loose, gossamer gown, and he’d thought, ragged-edged, that the people after him had no idea what he looked like, out of his armor.

His pursuers had  _ apologized _ , moments later, when they opened the door to find him on the bed, stretched - miming the act of a good, hard fuck - over it’s first occupant, one of his hands over the kid’s mouth, just in case he got any bright ideas about screaming, even as dark spots had swam all across Jango’s vision.

He’d managed to avoid passing out until  _ after  _ the door shut again. 

It had been a shock when he woke up again. Even more of a shock to realize that the whore had bandaged his wounds, neatly, and even applied bacta. He’d been a pretty thing, Jango had registered, but most whores were, and Jango hadn’t had the time to consider it. He’d left, dropping some extra credits on the bed, and never planned to think about Trolk VI again.

And he didn’t, really.

But he  _ did  _ find himself thinking about the whore, his copper-red hair and wide, surprised eyes, and the unusually thick and battered collar around his neck. His thoughts kept spiralling around to the boy - over and over - and distraction wasn’t something he could afford. Not in his line of work. Not in his  _ life _ .

Obviously, he’d needed to get his fixation out of his system. And so he ended up back on Trolk VI, in the pleasure district. He walked into the house through the front door, sneering at the proprietor behind his mask, half-sure that the woman wouldn’t know who he was talking about - he hadn’t gotten the whore’s name, after all.

But they must not have had many other male humanoids with reddish hair to choose from. She tittered happily enough, told him he’d made a good choice by selecting Ben - evidently the boy’s name - and waved a hand to have him led up the stairs.

The house was well-off. HIgh-end. It didn’t stink of sweat or sex; instead some care seeemd to have been taken to ensure it was all pleasant scents, soft music, dim lights. Jango ignored the droid’s request for a tip when he was delivered to a door he remembered.

He stepped into the room quietly. Nothing had really changed, he noted. A bed predominated the room, covered in soft fabrics. There was a bench along one wall, a chair. Hooks, here and there, on the walls and ceiling. He could imagine a use for each.

And each use was connected to the only other figure in the room - the boy, Ben - sitting on the side of the bed, a container of bacta open by his hip, a gossamer robe slid off of one shoulder, revealing an array of fading marks, skin shiny from the bacta application. 

He blinked over at Jango right away, eyes stunningly blue, his hair a tangle around his jaw - like someone had been playing with it - and his mouth reddened. His drooping robe did almost nothing to hide his shoulders and chest - there were marks there, too - or the traces of a flush over his throat.

Jango looked at him and felt a kick in his gut, almost shocking.

He couldn’t recall, really, the last time he’d felt directed desire.

He’d begun to think he just wouldn’t, ever again.

Ben recovered first, which was a lurching shock, and tilted his head to the side, eyes narrowing just a little. He asked, his voice all wrong for a brothel in the Outer Rim - Jango heard that accent on his clients from the Core, and nowhere else, “Should I expect armed men to burst in after you, again?”

There was something satisfying to being recognized so quickly, but, then, he was sure he’d made an impression, last time. Jango shook himself, snorting, and said, “Not this time. Disappointed?”

Ben’s mouth quirked, just a little. He wasn’t….acting in quite the way Jango expected from a whore. Certainly there was no fawning about as he dipped his fingers once more into the bacta, spread a line of it across his shoulder, and asked, “Only a little. And you recovered?”

Jango remembered, clearly, blinking his way to consciousness with his head in Ben’s lap, the boy trailing gentle fingers over his brow, murmuring some strange lullaby that had seemed familiar from  _ somewhere  _ and--

He shook the thoughts away, taking a step forward as the boy closed the bacta jar and stood, carrying it across the room. “I’m well enough,” he said, looking at the fading marks across the boy’s back.

There were reddened marks, fading, long and straight. He recognized lashes, when he saw them. There were other imprints, on his shoulders and arms, fingerprints, perhaps, and the shape of a mouth, here and there.

And below those marks there was scar tissue, old and ragged. Uglier than he’d have expected on a pleasure slave. Especially one so lovely as this boy, who had to be worth more undamaged. Taken with the heavy, ugly collar around his neck - something Jango hadn’t seen on any of the brothel’s other….employees - it was leaving him with multiple questions.

He crossed the room while Ben arranged the bacta, apparently unconcerned, even when Jango touched one of the marks, with just one finger. “Better than you,” he added, and the boy looked over his shoulder, robe sliding a little further down his back.

“Apologies,” he said, “sometimes the bacta takes a while to work.”

Jango frowned, shaking himself again. He hadn’t come here to chit-chat with a whore. He’d come here to - to burn away his fascination with this boy, before it distracted him any further. Considering the sight of his glove on Ben’s skin wasn’t helping with that. It didn’t matter that, for whatever reason, he didn’t  _ like  _ the marks.

It had been a long time since he fucked anyone at all. That was all. Years, he thought.

His body had, obviously, had enough of waiting, and his head had fixated on Ben, because he’d been warm and pliant, when Jango stretched over him, because he had a red mouth and clear eyes, and legs a parsec long. He’d fuck the boy, get it out of his system, and move on.

Decided, he took a step back, and snapped, lifting his helmet off, “Do you waste so much time with all your clients?”

“No,” Ben said, agreeably, meeting his gaze evenly. “I’m very adaptable.”

Jango wondered, sudden and dark, just how adaptable he was. He said, voice getting thicker, “Help me with this.”

“Of course.” Ben had long, clever fingers, Jango noted, removing his armor quickly and steadily, setting each piece aside carefully. He was tall, too, all stunningly long legs and with a hint of coltishness still about him, not fully grown into his shoulders. 

It felt...strange, to be out of his armor in front of someone else. But Ben had seen it all, already. He’d seen Jango bleeding out, and had decided, for whatever reason, to patch him up instead of leaving him to die and stealing the armor and the rest of Jango’s credits.

The beskar alone would have been enough to buy out whatever price the boy’s owners wanted for him, unless the boy was something  _ really  _ special. 

It made no kriffing sense that Ben had kept him alive. People didn’t  _ do  _ that, didn’t just - help, for no reason at all. Especially not when it would serve them better to do otherwise. Jango caught Ben’s wrists, when he reached for the closures at Jango’s belt, and said, roughly, “You could have killed me, before.”

Ben looked over at him, down, just a bit. He didn’t slouch, made no effort to make himself look smaller, which--Jango realized he quite liked. “Kill you?” Ben asked, tilting his head to the side. “Why would I kill you? I don’t even know your name.”

“Is that a prerequisite?” Jango asked, and realized, with another hot lurch in his gut, that he  _ wanted  _ to hear the boy say his name. Maybe scream it, a few times.

Ben shrugged. He said, dry, “It seems a bare minimum to know, before killing someone. Don’t you think?” 

“You’ve got a mouth on you,” Jango said, and heard the appreciation in his own voice, unplanned, just...blossoming there. Alarming. He was supposed to be here to fuck this boy, to get rid of the thoughts that had plagued him. It was past time he made some progress in that direction. He released Ben’s wrists, handled his belt on his own, and said, “Maybe you should make better use of it.”

“As you wish,” Ben said. He raised an eyebrow at Jango and kept eye contact as he sank down to his knees, lovely and with that wisp of a robe still around him, half-obscuring his body before he hesitated and….shrugged it off, letting it pool around his legs.

He was lovely as Jango remembered; lovelier, perhaps, without Jango’s blood smeared across his skin. Jango bit his tongue, reached out, and fisted a hand in the boy’s hair, Ben still looking up at him, and said, “I expect to be impressed.”

Ben’s mouth curved, sharp, just for a moment as Jango jerked his slacks open with his free hand, just enough to pull his cock out and he didn’t know exactly when he’d gotten so hard. Maybe as soon as he’d stepped into the room.

“I aim to please,” Ben said, and before Jango could make a reply, the boy pulled forward just a bit against the hold in his hair, and licked across the head of Jango’s cock, and--

And it had been a long time since anything touched him but his own hand. He hadn’t even wanted to fuck his fist, for an age. He’d been….not content, really, but willing to just ignore erections until they went away.

He swore, tightening his grip and rocking his hips, sliding his cock into the hot, wet perfection of Ben’s mouth. The boy kept his eyes upturned, staring while Jango watched his cock slide past reddened lips, draw back again all wet and slick. And it was --  _ perfect _ .

Jango’s jaw clenched shut, hard, and he slid his other hand into Ben’s hair, too, the waves of it catching at his gloves - he hadn’t gotten as far as removing them - as he held the boy’s head just so, fucking into his mouth.

He could feel Ben’s tongue, rolling against the bottom of his cock, and the boy sucked, noisily, in time with each shallow thrust, loud, his mouth and cheeks getting wet, even before Jango swore and anchored him in place, pushing  _ further _ .

Ben’s eyes fluttered, when Jango properly fucked into his mouth, into his  _ throat _ . He felt the boy restrain a choke, watched his eyes get shiny and wet, cheeks getting blotchy with red, the color spreading each time Jango shoved forward, his breath hitching and wet, and  _ still _ , he kept his eyes open, staring up and--

Jango blinked and jerked his head to the side, swearing viciously when he came, knowing, with a strange, twisting feeling, that he was never going to forget those blue eyes just  _ watching  _ him, the entire time. 

He ground his hips forward and then pulled on Ben’s hair, dragging him back and off.

The boy gasped for breath, audibly gulping at the air, and Jango dared a look back at him, kneeling there on the floor, mouth and jaw wet with spit, mouth brilliant red, breathing so hard his whole body shook with it, one of his hands braced on the ground, apparently for balance, even as he glanced up and asked, his voice wrecked and hoarse, “Impressed?”

“I’m getting there,” Jango rasped back, taking his fingers out of the boy’s hair. He had - at least - another hour of time. He found he very much wanted to use it. Perhaps even extend the arrangement. He’d had a few  _ very  _ good jobs. He could afford an entire night, easily. He exhaled, want curling down his spine, and ordered, “Go on, onto the bed. I want between your legs again. Properly, this time.”


	6. Codywan (F+ J missing scene, xeno)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the last prompt! (Unless I do the extra day tomorrow, which...maybe). A missing scene from "Flotsam and Jetsam" from Cody's POV.

Kote had seen humans before Obi-Wan. A few had even been alive. But he’d seen them from a great distance, so far away they were mostly flashes of movement and color, vibrations picked up through the water, the distant sounds of their voices raised in a senseless cacophony.

He’d found the differences in their bodies fascinating, even in the early days of his recovery. No scales covered Obi-Wan’s skin. He had no gills along his back, no spines and no webbing between his long fingers. There was  _ hair _ grown across his chest and on his arms and, even, low on his stomach.

All of those differences were eye-catching. But they were nothing, really, to the differences on the lower half of his body.

Obi-Wan had...well, he called them legs, when Kote asked what they were. Two long limbs, where he should have had a fin, covered in soft skin. The legs let him move around on land, which was, Kote could admit, very useful.

But that wasn’t what fascinated him about them. It was...intriguing, the way they moved. The way Obi-Wan could pull one up and rest an arm across the big bend in the middle - a knee, Kote remembered - while the other stretched out. 

And there was, of course, everything  _ between  _ his legs. Kote had not realized humans left their genitalia just hang out, until the first time he’d seen Obi-Wan bathing. It was just...there. All the time. 

His cock, even setting aside the fact that it was always  _ exposed _ , was….different, just like the rest of him. Kote had wondered, at first, what humans did with it, because it seemed too...soft to properly be used in any way, though he had imagined it would be quite nice to touch.

It had gotten hard, when they touched one another in the tide pool, and suddenly looked far more like what Kote expected. Still unusual, though. Kote hadn’t been sure what to make of the swell at the tip, or the lack of ridges down the underside. Fortunately, Obi-Wan had seemed more than willing to let him explore, to sate his curiosity, and, in the end, it had functioned much in the way Kote hoped, letting him draw an orgasm and release from Obi-Wan.

His cock had softened again, quickly, even resting in Kote’s hand, and Obi-Wan had made a protesting sound and gripped at his wrist, when Kote tried to touch him further, to make sure he was fully satisfied. Which had been...interesting. Kote found everything  _ about  _ him interesting, and grew to very much enjoy making him hard, that obvious and straight-forward sign that Obi-Wan wanted him, wanted to be touched and made a mess of.

He liked the way Obi-Wan changed colors, when he wanted. His people lit up, brilliantly. Obi-Wan shifted color all over his face and shoulders and chest. The color spilled down over his skin and Kote had plans to see how far down he could get it to go, yet to be enacted. 

Obi-Wan was, currently, blushing brilliantly and not, Kote thought, from the sun above them.

Obi-Wan brushed his mouth across Kote’s shoulder - and there was a kick of instinctive want, tied to the warmth of his breath, a desire to feel teeth against skin, but - and slid down, lips soft on Kote’s chest. 

Obi-Wan’s people - or perhaps just Obi-Wan himself - seemed to greatly enjoy the use of their mouths. Kote had been doubtful about the application, at first. Generally, his past experiences with the use of a mouth during a fuck had invovled blood.

It was not so with the humans. And Kote had found that he was  _ incredibly  _ glad about that.

“Fuck,” he panted out, when Obi-Wan slid further down his body, lips soft on his stomach, and-- he slid his cock free, wanting to give Obi-Wan easy access for whatever he wanted to do, wanting to encourage this southward exploration.

He touched Obi-Wan’s shining, bright hair, and Obi-Wan glanced up at him, bottom lip wet already when he asked, “Is it--can I?”

“Yes,” Kote assured him, hurriedly. He’d been worried, the first time Obi-Wan tried to use his mouth. All of those worries had been hurriedly destroyed. 

Obi-Wan flashed him a smile, bright and blinding, and then he was, oh, licking across the tapered end of Kote’s cock, tongue soft and hot and wet, a precursor to the perfect curve of his mouth.

Kote had taken lovers, before Obi-Wan. But never had any of them closed their lips around the width of his cock with a groan. None of them had given him a glimpse of such hot, wet pleasure, and--

It felt just as overwhelming as the first time. Kote swore, but managed to keep an arm braced up on the sand, this time. He wanted to  _ watch _ , not just fall back and stare senselessly skyward, undone by the pure and utter  _ pleasure _ .

He’d had no idea being in someone’s mouth would feel so good. Obi-Wan’s teeth, largely flat and dull, were always well back from his cock, there was just--pressure and heat and the soft movement of his tongue. It was amazing to Kote, especially how  _ long  _ Obi-Wan could do it.

He wasn’t entirely sure how Obi-Wan managed to breathe, while sucking on his cock, taking more and more of it into his mouth. He didn’t have gills. And even if he had, they weren’t in the water. But--

Kote groaned, the sound torn from him, and dropped to his elbow as Obi-Wan did something that involved hollowing his cheeks and sliding down further. He couldn’t look away from the image of Obi-Wan’s lips around his cock, each ridge disappearing into the wet heat, only to reappear again, over and over, slick and shining from Obi-Wan’s spit.

He couldn’t look away from the little furrow forming between Obi-Wan’s brows, some consideration in his head - which seemed wildly unfair, Kote had no idea how he was managing to  _ think  _ at the moment - and then Obi-Wan shifted, adjusting his position, until Kote could mostly only see the crown of his head, which was still lovely, of course, but much less--

Kote swore, loudly, and went to his back all at once, body bowing as he fell into the need to get  _ closer _ , to bury all that he had in the pleasure Obi-Wan was offering him, freely and amazingly and--

He did not know what Obi-Wan had  _ done _ , but everything was hot and tight and squeezing around his cock and--and somehow Obi-Wan had gotten all of it into his mouth, though Kote knew well enough that shouldn’t have been  _ possible _ , there was too much of him to allow that to happen and--

There was a brief constriction, a squeeze around part of his cock, and he gave up trying to figure out what Obi-Wan was doing or how he was doing it. Obi-Wan shifted, after a moment, rising a little off of his cock and Kote made a desperate, protesting sound, gripping at Obi-Wan’s hair.

He heard Obi-Wan make a thick sound, muffled by Kote’s cock in his mouth, and then he was moving down again, was he  _ swallowing _ , was he--

“Oh,” Kote rasped, senseless, and orgasm rolled through him in a wave, drawn out by Obi-Wan’s mouth and tongue and throat. Obi-Wan did - did  _ something  _ again, and Kote rolled his back up, hand still caught in Obi-Wan’s hair, spending and--

Obi-Wan tugged on his wrist, hard, a moment later. Kote blinked and released his grip, and shoved up as Obi-Wan pulled off of him and leaned to one side, coughing and gasping for breath, his mouth wet, smears of come on his skin, in his beard, lovely.

Kote swore, ignoring the ache in his cock - he was far from finished, but he could ignore that, set it aside - and rubbing a hand across Obi-Wan’s shoulders. “Alright?” he asked, struggling to find a single other word in English. “You are?”

Obi-Wan looked over at him, a smile curving his mouth as he nodded, still coughing a little. “Yes,” he said, “and you?”

And there was something mad about Obi-Wan even thinking he needed to ask. It made the tangle of fondness in Kote’s chest spread further, even as he leaned in and licked away some of the spend on Obi-Wan’s mouth - only fair, after all, since he’d put it there - and pulled him over. 

“Most good,” he assured Obi-Wan, who shivered in his arms, who was  _ hard  _ and aching, apparently just from sucking on Kote’s cock, from making him come, and that was fiercely, deeply satisfying. “Now I’m taking care of you,” Kote said, drawing another shiver from Obi-Wan and a moan, when he slid his hand down, and set to taking his lover apart. 


End file.
